Hawke Song
by goddess-orchid
Summary: To Anders magic has always been a song. It spoke to him in waves through the fade and through the men and women he cared for. Yet now that he is one with Justice he finds lonely evenings in the presence of Hawke create a song stronger than any before. Can mead and ale drown out his desire or will he give in and let himself be for her alone just for a little while?


-All credit obviously goes to Bioware where due.

4/10/13-completed 11/4/13 Updated 11/17/13

It was strange what effect Lady Hawke had on Anders. It was unprecedented, foreign, and to his horror more vivid than damn near anything else had been in a long time. From his perch in the Hangman he watched her across the room talking to Varric and Isabella over ale. It must have been a good day because she wasn't wearing her usual robes, though she carried her staff. She was clad in a simple tan blouse and sky blue skirt with a pendent depicting a mabari hound around her neck. Hawke had coin enough to buy everyone around and then some, yet she did not look it. Her home may have been Kirkwall, but she never let anyone doubt she was Ferelden in her heart. That fact was even more prominent as she reestablished her families nobility. She could do a flawless Kirkwall accent, but never used it. She could forsake everything that tied her to her homeland because nothing outside her heart kept her tied there. She did not. She could have abandoned her ragtag patchwork of friends, but she laughed at the thought. The songs people sang of her that said she hailed from Kirkwall, she'd correct to her being Ferelden. She gave to orphanages in the alienage and did her best to assist him in the clinic despite her weakness in healing magic. _A truly admirable woman. _The sound of her laughter drifted to his ears . _A wonderful woman..._

A strange painful tingling to crawled through Anders' belly. He pressed his mug to his lips, hoping to silence the voice grating inside his head. The sensation only sang to Anders around Hawke, with her delicious skin the same color as Orlesian chocolates and her eyes the same off deep brown as the hills near Amaranthine. Dresses and skirts suited her more than enchanted robes. She smiled at him from across the room as she moved to two of Aveline's guardsmen. Restraining the smile threatening to take over his face killed him, but he managed a nod back.

Anders rubbed his temple, watching Hawke press a hand to Fenris' shoulder as he and Isabella traded what could only be double entendres. Anders chuckled to himself. He had not told Fenris how many times Isabella had been to his clinic for...healing yet. Maybe one day he would. Hawke moved across the room greeting Merrill as she shyly stepped through the doorway. It was hard to believe that the demure little elf was consorting with demons. By all rights the girl should have been far away from civilization where no one could get hurt, but Lady Hawke kept her there.

Merril was a blood mage who represented ideas that mages fought against every day, yet Hawke kept her like a pet. She never said why, or heeded Anders words. Merrill wasn't a wholly bad person. At times she even reminded him of younger mages at the circle. She'd walk into the clinic with red string trailing behind her asking if he knew where a stall in Hightown was. She was like a pet...a mabari puppy he waited to put down. The inevitability of that day coming weighed on his mind every time Hawke dragged them up the Wounded coast.

After the clinic had grown quiet and the last refugee had trudged off into Darktown he ended up wandering to her estate, knocking upon her door. It had been four months since the deep roads. Four months since he heard Leandra's hand slap against Hawke's cheek and watched Hawke stand there taking every ounce of her mother's rage over what may have been her only son's death. Four months since he saw two Ferelden children skinning a cat near his clinic. He still hoped it was for the meat. More so it had been four and a half months since learning that the pretty elven girl stood one step away from becoming an abomination. Hawke still visited Merrill every three days for tea, and Merrill was always invited to dine with Hawke, Bodahn, Sandal and Leandra.

_I should be working on my manifesto_. In the background of his thoughts Justice agreed. _You're Worse than the wardens sometimes_. The door swung open slowly. He had expected Bodahn, but Hawke stood there. Her dark hair was tied in two ponytails. Her robes were well ordered, but something about her seemed disheveled, tired. _What time is it?_

"I-I didn't mean to disturb you it can wait." He gave her the best apologetic smile he could imagine. Hawke deserved her rest. He had no right to her time.

"I wasn't sleeping yet. Besides if you leave now I'll wonder why you came all night. Anders, come in." Hawke stepped aside and the tone of her voice told him it was more an order than an offer.

She sat down in a chair before the fire place, while Anders paced back and forth before her. Her eyes bored holes through him, but she hadn't said much. The woman could be infuriating that way sometimes. She never did it with anyone else but him. With Aveline, Isabella, and even Fenris it was all questions and concern. While her furrowed brow betrayed her worry. She had stopped asking him questions as often since he told her to keep her distance. She would just watch him, coincidentally enough like a hawk, and waited until he either had to speak or she absolutely had to. She hated silences almost as much as him..._almost_. _Blast._

"What if Merrill turns on you?"

Hawke leaned back, sliding down a bit in her seat. Hawke tapped her chin for a moment then looked up at Anders, shrugging her shoulders.

"Then she turns on me."

"Hawke, I'm being serious. Think about what she could cost you, what she could cost the city."

"I am. I do not approve of her methods. Merrill knows that, and knows what would happen if she were to turn against this city." Hawke's voice lowered and she met Anders gaze. Something in her eyes made him shift where he stood. "She is naive, but not foolish."

"She thinks she can make a deal with demons. What could be more foolish than that?"

"Turning on me. I accept full responsibility for Merrill's actions in this city. If that means the possibility of death, hers or mine, so be it."

Anders furrowed his brow, dropping his arms to his side.

"How can you be so flippant about this?"

Hawke turned away staring at the floor for what felt like a millennia. It made his nerves stand on end whenever she did that. Sometimes it was like she was peering into the Fade waiting for answers.

"Anders, in some ways you are more dangerous than she."

The words stung in Anders chest. His hands tightened into fists. Both he and Justice were only doing what was right. They were helping people and fighting for freedom. She had known freedom all her life. What right had she to talk?

"Please understand," Hawke said, "Anders you are a runaway grey warden bonded with a spirit trying to start a revolution that could disrupt the entire power structure in every bit of land held by the Chantry. It does not help that you are charming."Hawke's eyes widened as if she caught herself too late. _She thinks I'm charming?_

Anders felt his face go hot, but something inside seethed at her words. If only it came from Justice alone. She shook her head, letting out a small nervous sigh before continuing, "My point is Merrill could do damage, but so could you."

Anders sucked in his cheeks a bit, folding his arms over his chest. His eyes lowered, as she stood and approached him. Justice was screaming arguments in his head, but they seemed trivial in comparison to Hawke's words. She stood and moved toward him. As Hawke closed the difference he felt a strange and all too familiar sensation begin to dance beneath his skin. A warm feeling flowing and melodic began to buzz in his mind. _No, do not allow this! Anders for her sake and yours_. Anders shifted back, but Hawke did not seem to care.

"I'm dangerous too. I'm a refugee who gained rank both underground and in polite society. I am a mage like you and yet I'm gaining clout with my name and family history alone. More so, I brought you, Aveline, and Fenris together." She leaned in and Anders could feel the heat of her breath and smell the scent of lavender perfume from her body. Anders restrained the chill threatening to roll down his spine. "I am dangerous in so many ways that I never intended. It actually scares me sometimes. I just wait until the day Meredith bursts in and arrests me. "

The thought sent fire to Anders belly and he couldn't hold back the sneer. She wouldn't go down without a fight, but if they drained her magic... Every muscle tightened as the image of Hawke imprisoned in the gallows at the mercy of templars came to his mind. If that woman ever tried to lay a hand on Hawke it would be the last thing she'd ever do. Anders could not have it. He would not.

Hawke laid a hand on his arms, and the softness of her eyes dragged him back to the reality. He was suddenly aware of how his knuckles ached from clenching so hard. It was as if she was reading his thoughts. The wonderful Lady Hawke was there, looking at him with such tenderness as if his thoughts pained her more than him.

"My father would stay awake half the night staring at the door with staff in hand. Even the night before he died mother could not get him to bed early. When I was young...I waited with him even as I slept...in the Fade I would see visions of templars."

"They're a true blight. You shouldn't have had to go through that." Anders tone caused Justice became startled at the tenderness in his voice. _It's true. _The buzzing melody grew and Justice began to pull back against it._ "No mage should. Do not make her special" Justice clanged._

_It's true. _Anders thought back.

"I know, but I did. Not befriending you and Merrill doesn't stop the chantry or the templars." Hawke stroked his arm, and Anders shoulders relaxed. "For now she is good, and she's smarter than you think. Merrill shouldn't have to live in that fear alone. She's soft."

He knew what it was like to be an apostate, to live in constant paranoia. Guilt settled down deep. He shouldn't have thought she knew nothing. He looked down at their feet unable to help the frown forming. Hawke took his chin and lifted it to meet her gaze. In another life it would have been so easy. He'd do what his body was telling him to and Justice wouldn't be there at all. Without hesitation he would grab Hawke, his lady Hawke, and taste every inch of her flesh that he could. In that far off world he would protect her even though there were no templars. She wouldn't have known fear and maybe Merrill wouldn't be the subject of conversation. There'd be no conversation except sweet words and moans. It wasn't a different world though, and Anders looked toward the floor. Hawke lingered where she stood, before turning away and returning to her seat.

"Everyone knows what happens when you turn on this city I'm either kind or I'm not. Merrill knows this, as do you and Isabella and Aveline. I trust her goodness, just as I trust yours." Hawke let out a sigh leaning forward. "Just as you must trust mine. Please...just do that one thing. I'll try not to ask more of you."

"Hawke, I-"

"Tis late Anders. I've spent all day running errands for mother. I was about to get in the bath, and unless you want to join me there or watch me then this conversation must end."

Despite the disappointment in her voice her last words still sounded half serious. Even in rejection she offered herself to him. A little sadness began to creep up into Anders chest and he nodded.

He bid Hawke good night, barely meeting her gaze as he hurried out the door. Justice kept his silence, but he did not need to speak when Justice' sense of being right crawled through his skin. _Why couldn't I have met her a year ago_. "_You would have bedded her and left a year ago_," Justice bluntness could be like a mace to the face. Yet he was right. Anders could remember the nights in half hiding, not from templars but from protective fathers, angered husbands, and jealous wives. Before Justice he wouldn't have considered a future. Anders never really pictured that he could want one between one escape and the next. Anders ran his fingers through his hair shutting his eyes before giving a small harsh chuckle. _Oh the irony of it all_.

An old tune he heard from a senior enchanter popped in his head. It was about a chevalier who was so absorbed in duty his beloved died of loneliness and waiting. Hawke wasn't alone. She had a legion of friends, and her pick of nearly any man in Kirkwall. The comparison was silly, almost childish. Anders was no chevalier, but a renegade mage fighting for a potentially deadly cause. Hawke was a fair maiden but she was not wilting flower. Yes the comparison could only be silly. As Anders descended the steps toward lowtown he paused. The tune was lost. The words didn't fit anymore. Perhaps that was a good thing.

The past few years had only been harder because of Hawke. Before that Justice had been adamant in his thoughts, and Anders had been abiding by them well for the most part. There had been moments where a sweet barmaid or a doting refugee had made his heart beat faster despite himself. Yet the fade spirit had taught him the art of self control, so denying such fancies became an easy task. Though he had taken a few loose women to bed. They knew upfront that there could be no future with him, just a night or morning of mutual satisfaction. Justice knew that a healthy young man had needs. Anders was not _that_ far gone, but never had Anders been allowed to fall prey to foolish distractions. He agreed when Justice rang out in his head. They had a purpose. Hawke was a dangerous woman with a dangerous smile that promised to be beyond a simple diversion. Distance kept her safe and him from losing focus.

The mage underground was growing stronger by the day. The resistance needed his leadership to maintain itself. Organizing escape routes for renegade mages was difficult, but he had found that many were coming to the cause. The list of mothers, lovers, husbands, and brothers of mages joining the cause grew with every mage stolen from home. Every tragic tale made his heart break. That heartbreak could be fostered into change with the right sculptor. The mage underground needed him to sculpt them, to test their resolve. Risks could be disaster, and distractions were risks.

From across the room came husky loud bursts of laughter as Hawke motioned Varric over to their table again, wrenching him from another exaggeratedly captivating tale of Hawke's grand exploits. The years had made it easy to forget she laughed like that. She was so busy playing big sister when they met, trying to continuously placate her mother, or saving Kirkwall from itself, per usual, that it seemed like she never had a moment to just be herself. A small pretty smile would grace her fair lips, but it was rare to hear her boisterous obnoxious laughter. Anders could not fight the smile from watching her. She deserved some happiness. In all likelihood the three mugs in front of her had something to do with it, but that didn't matter. Once upon a time she must have laughed like that or been verbose, vibrant even. Within that curvaceous form— behind her eyes— lay something striking that constantly screamed to get out, her own personal soul song. Well that was what Anders liked to think. _I would have loved to hear it you know. Just once..._She rarely let it out full force. How could she when that could draw unwanted attention. Anders drank from his mug once more, feeling the honey sweet slide down his throat. Oppression was everywhere and touched everyone. Was Hawke ever really free even if she had never been in the circle? Being unnoticeable all the time— suppressing herself to protect her family— must have been unbearable. _Skillful of her though_, Justice chimed. Anders bit his lip hard unable to prevent his brow from furrowing as he stared down into his mead. It was a good trait for an apostate mage, but that annoying laugh was too sweet to happen so rarely.

When did he have time to fall under the spell of that damn Thedas shattering feeling? Between being a mercenary for her, treating the refugees, and writing his manifesto there should have been no time for _that_ feeling. However, there had always been time for Hawke, to teach her a new spell or help her do some mundane task. She was always there listening, helping, wanting. How she could want with those big beautiful eyes.

Anders pressed his mug to his lips again, and he felt the hairs stand on the back of his arms. Those were bad thoughts. Everything about that delicious woman with her hips and long legs was damning his spirit, distracting him from the cause. Justice said that repeatedly. Though Justice did not exactly speak, Justice felt through Ander he brought out feeling and images unlike any other. At the Circle they said that spirits and demons felt different to different mages. For example, he had been told, some mages interpreted magic as a feeling of being embraced or caressed in places. One of his instructors had said that to her magic felt like colors and light.

To Anders magic had always been a song. Perhaps it was because all he could remember of his mother—besides her clinging him to her chest and screaming as Templars tried to pry him from her—were her songs. When the sky thundered she sang of how the Maker was dancing because he heard The Chant. When Anders could not sleep his mother would sing of tales of the heroes and myths of the skylark elves fighting frightening wolves . Those precious songs weaved themselves through his memory, the only refuge of his early years. Justice did not understand that, but he did not question it either.

Long ago magic came to him as only songs beyond lyrics and words. It flowed around him healing and hurting with divine tenacity in an orchestra of pure energy. Yet Justice had taught that all songs are not as full. For the spirit's song was unlike music or magic. It felt all consuming and sang of glorious things through one omnipotent note across and through his skin. The words came from feeling the song. Justice was a complex creature, and grew more complex the longer he dwelled in Anders, but the clarity in his meaning and feeling produced a song that easily translated to words. In short it was a song of glass.

As he looked on to the woman sitting far from him, the Hawke who glanced over with bright deep eyes, he loathed that note. Hawke stood and walked toward him never losing the smile upon her lips. She stood beside him leaning against the bar and putting one of her soft hands on his shoulders. If only the damned feathers had not been in the way perhaps he would feel it more.

"You should not drink alone, join us." Every word was low as though every sound was made from velvet.

He swallowed shaking his head managing to smile back. A tingling settled along his neck, as an energy not his own began to radiate through him. The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted into his nose. _How does she smell so good in a wreck of a place like this? _he thought trying to ignore the stirring within every fiber of his being.

"I'm afraid I should be heading back to the clinic soon."

The sooner he could get away, the sooner his body would calm down.

"Anders you are always so distant." A sadness settled in her voice as her smile fell. "You do not have to be alone."

And there it appeared, that unspoken attraction between them. It was not just looks, and legs, and— as Isabella put it— strong oft' feathered shoulders. With those eyes and that touch something awoke in his belly that felt like light and birds singing only to become this melodic cacophony of beauty as she brushed her fingertips against his neck. To touch was wrong. To want was wrong.

Distractions.

All she could be was a distraction.

All he could do was hurt her.

"Hawke." He bit his bottom lip trying to ignore the music coming from her body. The notes only seemed to pull stronger the longer her touch lingered. The problem with mages was magic often betrayed more feelings than words.

There were mages at the tower whose bodies called out in faint wisps of feeling to him, but Hawke was different. Beneath the resolute caring and reserved smiles lay a woman brimming with unending passion. With every caress of her fingertips the song grew louder and heat sunk into its chords.

A dangerous place.

He had learned his lessons well in the tower. Yerlina with her pert young breasts and supple skin. Yerlina who danced for Anders in nothing more than her small clothes behind the staircase in the library. Yerlina, who when he came to her weeks later—laughed, harsh and cold as though he were a child— had taught him lessons no young person ever forgets. Her magic played off him in an operatic mockery. There could be no love in the Tower. "Love was a dream for the Fade" she had said.

The closest he ever came again was Karl, but reducing it to eager panting and shy needing touches became easier after Yerlina even if it were not true. There were times when Karl gave him looks that caused guilt to set into Anders bones, but Karl's looks were only painful and brief. Beyond that Karl enjoyed the game, the chase and capture intrigued him far more than anything else. Though the older man had cared…had loved in his own way. Yet he and Anders both knew the truth, to be a mage in love was to be a fool.

The bartender put down another mug and within seconds the warm sweet contents were pouring down his throat. Her fingers had moved to his back causing a shudder to rumble through him.

_Love is but a game, and she does not deserve to be played with_.

"Do not go where you will be hurt, Hawke." Anders said staring, forward refusing to look at her face.

"It is my choice as to whether I will be hurt Anders." Hawke's magic flowed through him as though it were his own. "Let me make it."

"And live with the guilt?" It came out louder than he meant a few eyes glanced his way. He suppressed his own embarrassment glancing toward the floor before looking back to the crucible gaze of her eyes. "You're a lovely woman." His eyes fell again and he let out a slow exhale. "No…beautiful…ravishing…if I had met you before Justice-"

"Justice." Laughter fluttered on her words. "Justice? No, he is not the reason."

At this Anders turned staring up at her. Each of her fists were clenched tight, and he could see the dark skin on her knuckles pale. This had happened thousands of time before in battle whenever she needed to focus she wound up her fists tight sometimes to the point blood ran down her fingers, forcing him to heal her. Her eyes were a torrent of different feelings that he'd always known were there but never seen. Her cheeks were flushed from her buzz, but there was no doubt she was speaking her mind. Why would a beautiful woman fight so hard over him? She was a noble and could hide her magic well. There was no point in her pursuit.

"Hawke don't-"

"You use him as an excuse. He may be a factor in why, but he is not you Anders. You deserve some happiness, don't you? Don't I?"

The magic had altered until every chord transformed into an aria of want and love deeper than anything he had felt in a long time. Something in his chest grew hot around his heart and something was pulling at his soul. Hawke jumped blinking as though some odd thing had come upon her. It could only be his own magical song finding her against the affects of the mead he eagerly consumed. He could feel the pull of it flooding her body. Neither of them should have been drinking that much. They were too...exposed. Without thinking he held his breath hoping she would leave everything be, but confusion consumed her face. Had she never had a crush on someone? Had she never loved someone? Had she never felt someone else's ma-

No.

She had not.

Her life was spent traveling Ferelden and living on the outskirts of Lothering hiding her magic from all but family. The only other mages she must have encountered were ones she had to kill, relatives, Merrill, and himself. Between her father and Bethany she probably didn't notice or wrote it off as a family bond. She probably never understood why Carver felt so left out... Should he have tried to explain it? Should he tell her in the same voice that Senior Enchanter Rhys told him "that is what happens when some unrelated mages are attracted or strongly attached to each other. It's not quite common, but it happens from time to time". Yet the sensation wasn't the same as when Anders wanted someone before. The magic was ravaging his ability to think. It disrupted Justice one note song. Hawke stared down at him curiously. When it came to magic she did always expect him to have the answers. A sigh escaped him before clearing his throat.

"You have…never been intimate with a mage?" He ran a finger over the top of his scarf trying to sound as professional as when he talked to his patients.

Her cheeks burned a bright caramel and her eyes went wide. She looked as though she was embarrassed to speak. Realization that she misunderstood hit him like a hammer to the gut, and he looked away before turning to her. _How has no one...how would anyone resist... _He cleared his throat putting those thoughts aside.

"That wasn't exactly what I meant. I mean emotionally. Though I'm curious about that as well..." He bit the inside of his cheek remembering a time when jokes with far dirtier implications rolled off his tongue. She shook her head with a look of utter embarrassment, which he found far too adorable. He motioned her to lean in, and she did.

"Sometimes magic calls out to other magic when bodies align or emotions are strong enough." He realized his breath rolling against her ear made her shiver, and perhaps the old Anders was still inside because he lingered with each word in a way he had not spoken in years. From within Justice began to scratch at the walls of his mind in protest. Nothing would deny him that one little taunt. "And, my lady Hawke, yours is…powerful."

_The meads gone to my head and remember two ales before that. That's all it is_. Justice did not believe him.

"If that is so then yours must be as well." She whispered caressing his cheek.

If only it could be that easy to forget the world. If only he could take her by the hand and lead her to the nearest bed or staircase shielded corner. Hawke was so many things and her song sang out with so much life. It brought out that long suppressed song, the song of old, funny, charismatic, cheeky, snarky Anders. Her song screamed louder than Justice. Grabbing her close and running away would be a dream beyond a dream.

Yes ,it was close. If he said so now those dark eyes would be his to look into forever, his personal ocean of reserved brown that no other man could sink into. There would be a cozy house, a warm bed above ground, and children running about the garden while Hawke told them to not trample her tulips. She loved tulips. Their combined songs told of such peace, away from the long fight for justice.

"Let me hurt for you even if it's only for tonight."

A searing ache rose to the surface of his skin and darted through the marrow of his bones. Images danced in his mind of how that unspoken feeling for this woman could destroy the underground. Again came the song of glory telling of duty to his fellow mages. Again came the somber note echoing about how Hawke was a good woman not deserving to be hurt. Again the song sang of injustice and selfishness being the blight of man far deadlier than any known darkspawn, talking or no. The strange song grew fiercer as he looked into the eyes of that wonderful apostate who would hurt and bleed for him in her longing.

Hawke, the refugee with a resolve unlike that of most men or women, was begging him, the man who had never stopped being a lonely rebellious boy yearning for his mother's songs. Hawke, his Hawke, sang out calling for that dangerous unnameable thing that had spent years settling beneath their bones and skin like an infection that his magic could not stop. The fates cruelty knew no end.

He held her hand to his cheek managing a smile despite the sorrow building within him. The walls were weakened, fractured, and straining but they were not gone. Justice was guarding them bidding the old Anders back into the cage he imposed upon himself. The glorious song became quiet and melancholic as it played beneath his skin. Justice, corrupt though he may have been, remained Anders friend and deep within lay regret that belonged to Justice alone. For a brief moment he felt Justice think of Kristoff's wife and for a brief moment he felt Justice ask Anders for forgiveness. Aura and Hawke both hurt because of him, because of mistakes and fear.

No one wants to die.

Even the already dead did not want to, particularly a spirit far from its home, far from where it should be in peace.

But it was too late for apologies and regrets about something set in stone.

"No. Not tonight. Not now." Anders said before bringing Hawke's wrist to his lips and kissing it gently. With that he stood walking toward the door. Everything that was purely Anders screamed for him to turn back and say something, but he had seen the disappointment and glistening rims of her eyes. Nothing could be done anymore. The song, an aria of a magic stronger than any force from the fade, final notes lingered as he walked into the cold night air.

There could be no running away. There could be no hiding in the mountains spending their day's secretly enchanting items to sell and raising little ones away from a hate filled world. There could be no peace and acceptance until there had been violence and awakenings. All that remained was that glory song that told of duty, kinship, and justice. Once it had sounded so sweet and clear, but that was before Hawke. The clarity vanished when he began to await her every visit to darktown, and when he began to notice how she stopped at the flower stall whenever they were in the market.

If only he had met her sooner.

If only she did not stir such wondrous feeling from his heart.

That woman would prove his undoing, or more likely, he hers. The time for regrets had passed, but the further he walked from her the hunger in his heart grew. With a deep exhale he tried to push her from his thoughts, but all he saw was chocolate skin and legs that went on forever. A small laugh escaped him. "I'm obsessed with her legs". With a swallow he pulled his robe closed as the night winds flared against his skin.

Justice sang of the dangers of Anders feelings, but that song did not hold his interest like it used to. The song wore thin on his psyche, and that apostates passion had gone so much deeper.

How long could he deny her? How long could Justice's one note song compete against her wondrous aria? Tonight Justice won, but happiness was Hawke, and she was within his grasp.

As Anders disappeared from the light of the high placed moon down into the depths of darktown he felt the last note of her wonderful song give one strong final cry before quieting. He was too far away, but the memory of it lingered like the taste of honey mead in his mouth. One day he would taste her song again even if Justice screamed out at him. One day, yes, but not tonight.


End file.
